


sweet dreams are made of this

by KnifingGale



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Dark!Adler, F/M, Female Bell - Freeform, Female Bell!Reader, Reader-Insert, Whump, psychological whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifingGale/pseuds/KnifingGale
Summary: In which I post the fills for COD Cold War requests I get as well as anything that I happen to write that aren’t full-fledged multi-chapter stories.#1: she's sound as a bell. In which Bell hears static over the radio and Adler has to adopt the very reverse of the role he had with Bell.#2: second time's the charm. In which Adler wasn't done with Bell after Solovetsky. Dark!Adler/Bell Post-Solovetsky AU.#3: you're a beautiful broken thing. AU in which Stitch has recruited Bell. Stitch/Bell snippet.#4: playing rough. Bell always knew Stitch played rough in sparring. Stitch/Bell snippet.
Relationships: Bell/Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin, Russell Adler/Bell
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73





	1. she's sound as a bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: “I have a request bell isn't killed, they keep her on the team, but she has severe bad effects from the brainwashing. This worries Adler since she sometimes hears him talking even if he didnt or hears other voices and footsteps.”

**_п̴̥̲͓̮̟̩͇̗̠͐͗͗̓̿о̶̡̛̮͚̟̱̺̠̺̩̅͐͐̋̀͌̑в̵̖̹͕͙͕̖͉̊̾̋̎͒̈̉͜͜͝р̶͓̗̣̝͓̝̐̄̄̈̑̈́̏͝е̴̙̗͓̭͚͎̕ж̵̲͋̐д̸̙̖͓̩̼͌̄̂̊̓̅͒̒ͅе̶̢͈̮̣̯̗͉̼̒̿̊͝н̷̞̹̞̠͑̃͑͌̄̀̂̽н̶͕̲̔͆ы̸̡͇̭̥͎̲̠̬̐̓̇̋͊̃̎̈́̊е̷̡̺̭̺̣̎̉̆͊ ̵͖̎͒́̕̚͠т̸̼̰͚̠̟͕̤̾̊̿̅̈́͜о̴̗͍̫͖͌̂͆̽̇̐̾в̶͇͔͇͔̓ӓ̴̩͉͕̹̝̺͑̑̾̚р̴̨͔͊̓̿͌̚̚ы̷̹͗̉͘̕͠_ **

You heard the words over the crackling static of the radio on the worktable in front of you. You just _knew_ what they meant. 

Most of the time, the voices over the radio spoke _to_ you, spoke things _about_ you. 

( _And really deep down in your heart of hearts, you knew what they were saying wasn’t_ **_not_ ** _true._ ) 

However, sometimes, _sometimes_...they were useful. 

And so you always _listened_. 

**_о̷̩̟̅̍̌̔̏͝н̶͎̀̒̑и̵̦͎͖̼̝͎͝ ̷̦͉͍̪̯̉͂̀̈́б̷̛̜͕̮̥̻͖̜͂͐р̸͚̣̩̇͛̒̐о̷̥̪̩́̈͂̈́̈́͛̇̕͘с̶̡̧̯͉̺͓̰̥̑̾̂̾̐͂͜͝я̸̡̯͍͠т̸̘̟̺̈ ̴̨͇̈̔̓̈́̈́̂т̶̢̹̪͇̩̙̽е̶̻͉͇̖̩̦̦͕̐̊͂̒̊͂̚͠б̵͖̹̞̠̘̻̾̏͐͂̚͜я̶̙͙͌͗̀͠_ **

You were broken out of your thoughts by the warm yet firm pressure at your shoulder. You looked up only to see Adler staring down at you with an unreadable expression only further shadowed by his shades. 

“Sorry,” you excused quickly, “I...I’ve just been a bit tired lately. Too much coffee last night,” you said sheepishly, hoping the slight quiver of your accompanying nervous laugh didn’t give anything away. 

No matter what happened…they couldn’t find out. 

Adler only took a rather long drag of his cigarette. You distantly watched the smoke curl in the air under the stark fluorescent lighting as he breathed out. The heavy, familiar smell of nicotine and smoke in his presence was rather comforting in its consistency.

Sometimes, it felt like it was one of the few things in your life that was constant in its consistency. 

“You’re not going on the mission, Bell.” You felt your chest tighten as you struggled to hide the slight tremble of your hands from him. 

_No, no, no, please no-_

“I-I can provide oversight-”

“Bell.” 

“I’ve made some contacts in East Berlin through Greta Keller-”

“ _Bell_ ,” you barely resisted the instinct to visibly flinch at the sound of his voice. You knew you were being desperate, perhaps _pathetic_ even but you couldn’t let them catch on because really you were perfectly _fineokaygood_ -

“That’s enough,” Adler glanced down at the papers scattered across the table from where you sat, “We need someone to hold down the fort here. You can finish up your work on the tapes we retrieved from the seized NUM-11 numbers station.”

You quietly nodded, not really looking up to meet Adler’s eyes and instead staring at the radio in front of you. The dial controlling the volume had turned down to nearly nothing. Yet you could still register the crackling static from it. 

**_You always could hear it._ **

* * *

**_К̸̡̧̢̢̢̧̬̼͇͎͚̻̳͎͙̼̜͕̣̗͈̱̱̰̟͙̻̫̙̙̲̙͙̮̳̹͈̩̭̳̟͕͕̥̟͎͈̗̮̐̀̈́͆̾̂͑͋͜ͅо̴̨̛̛̪̪͚̹̅͒͌͂̊͌̊̊̐̎̈̈́̾̊̅͋̅͐͐͋̎̆́͋̕͘̚̕͘̕͘͝л̸̛̠̗̠̮̜̰͍̖̗̘̎̿̅̅͌̃̎͋̍̾̕о̶̧̛͔͙̯̭̲͍̞̟̺͛͗̈͛̍̽̓̈̏̆̈̾̋̌̾̌̓͗̃̈́̑͊̐̊̓̀̇̂̈̾̋̚̕͘͘͘к̴̢̢̨̨̨̦͚̲̜̮͙̯͖͎̭̤̱͓̭̦̔͋̈̿̋͛̒̿͜о̵̧̡̪͕͈̥̞͙̯̯͇̮̬̝͔̬̟̠̔̉̐͛̾́͆̽́̊̈͛̅͆̕͜͝͝л̶̡̡̢̧̡̧̛̣̮̤̪͇̤̖̠̪̗̝̤̗̰̜̳̖̰̙̘͍̲̬̪̪͔̖̟̪̺̬͖̞͖̤͒̇̌͗͗̈́̿̊͂̋̌̈́͌̐͑̊͑͒͋̋͒̎̽̈́̍͂̓͂̐̈́̚̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅ,̴̛̱̖̲͔̂͑̀̀́̒̓͗͋͑̾̓̾̓̆̆͑̈́̐͋̌͆͌̈́͑̀̄̆̑͐̎̏͛̄̆̈̄͘͘͝͝ ̶̢̡̧̛̤̫̲̥̹̪̯̩̪̼̱̻̠̠͎̣̳̱͓͕͍̝̓͒̓͌͆͒͊̅̇͊̎͂̅̒̈͂̇͗̌̒͂̄̒̍̎̈́̍̓̆͘͘̚͠͝ͅк̵̢̨̧̨̡̫̫̙̖̙̣͈̤̤͓̘̳̪̟͚̲̘̯̭͇͉͕̤̖̟̩̟̙̭̹͈͎̝̖͖̣̘̼̺̍̃̎̎͆̽́̏̐̈́͌̅͑͊̇̏̒̈́̈̌̔̿̀̾̐͋̐̕͘̚͜͠͝͝о̷̡̢̨̛̪̮̫͓͎̥̝̳͉̥̜̥̟̭̟̟̗͚̹̘̹͖̩͉̮̰̲͕͍̣̻̝̙̫͓͕͙̙̠͇̒̉͌̒͌̓̊̾̒̾͐̇̅̽́̈̎͒̒̔̑̀͘͝ͅͅл̷̧̧̧̛̜͇̫͇͉͈̰͖̙̖͎̹̼̘̘̗͉̮̟̪̮̰͙̻͚̯̦̘͍̯͍̯̦̙̞͈̝̣̠̜̖̝̼̃̏̽̑́̔̊̑̋̈̂̐̈́͗́̉̀̾̃̈̒̑̅͂͑͆̓̔̂̆͐͘͘̚͠͝͝ͅͅͅо̶̨̨̧̝̖̙̘͓͇͇̜̲̙͓̤̝̱͕̣̗͍̱͎̰̟͔̝͕̲͚͚̺̪̞͍̮͚̙̙̤͍̳̽͆̎̉̍͗̽̀̈́̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅк̸̭͕̰̦͔̤͕̜̦̤̬̗̫̭̔̆̂͐̄͌̇͗̒̓̈́̒͆̄̅̒̓̏͌̽̉͂̚͝͠о̸̢̭̣̥͙̹͇͋̑̔̆̐̽̓̒̾̍̋͊̾̀̊̕ͅл̴̧̨̡̢̡̹̤̩̙͇͚̳͉̙̼̜̣̤̱̹̝̘͖̩̺͈̗͎͉͎̜̳̖͇̹̻̝̘̞̬̱̭̰̜͔̲̳͕͛̓̇̾̋͌̎̈́̃̽̆̊͐̍̏̊̃͂̾̕͠͝͠͝,̶̨̨̨̢̡̛̛̤͓͎̮̻̫͚͔̠͓͇̭̱͙̤̻̫͓͈̞̼̱͆̂̂̊̏̉͒̅̋͐̂̍͛̀̿̎͆͊̉͊̏̈̈́͛͘͠͝͝ ̴̪͙̳̟̼͂͗͆͌̒̓̌̾͑̈́̓̊̽̒̌̿͂̾̒̿͋͌̐̿̽̎̓̌͂̚͠к̷̢̢̢̧̡͍̬̻͈̦͕̝̹̹̮͎͓͈̬͔͕̫̮̩͓͉͎̭̲͎͌̐̈́̈́̇ӧ̴̨̧̛̛̖̠̭̩̮͇̙̦͔͎̤̩̺̤̙̺̘͈̪̫͈̟̲̝͖͓̳̯̱̙̱̲̮̩͇̖͈̘̗̱̬͇̰̫̪́͌̔̄̓͌̐͆̈́̔̽̑̕͜ͅл̶̢̨̨̧̨͙̮̭̪͖̲͎̭̦͙͚͙͈̩̮̱̣̞̱̱͉̹͈̹̳͈̣̙̲̼̖̯̗͔̣̼̺̯̠̩̲̪͔͇̙̽̓̽̄͐̌̍̇̃͑̌̽͛̈͊̕͠ͅͅӧ̵̥͔͍̲̖͍̙̝́̋͑̆͋̈̃͒̐̉̎͋͑̃̿̚̕̕͠͝͝͝к̴̢̧̨̳̘̰̹̥͖̩̺̣̜̗̠̤͍̠̲̖̣̠̠̭̯̱͚̟̞̤̠̠̯͎̮̫͖͖̩̭͍̼͐͛̌̾̓͌̈́̅̎̿͑̑̋͑͌͊̾̅̽̆̐͋̿̈͋͑̽̃̒͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅо̸̨̢̲̟̖̪̝̖̦͈͇̘̝̮̻͉̲͉̰̬̺̤̺̯͍̩͔̯͚͐̋̄̊̿̿͂͊͂̈̂̑̉̈̾͌̃̒͂̑̐̑̍̊̎̊͑͆́̒̅̾̊̀̎̄̕͘̚͜͝͠ͅл̴̡̛̛͎̼͎̩̺͖͈̮̼̙͎̖̼̯̮̯͖̺̭̰̟̞̫͕̼̼̦͙̲̗̄͋̄̎͌̅͊͐̅̌̔̿̒̑͌͂̂͑͛̋̆̓̅͌̋̆̀̉͗̊̿̄͋̊͐̈́̏̀̀̆̈͠͝͝_ **

You heard the Russian voice casually roll over the words in a sing-songy manner over the crackling static of the radio as you stared down at the transcriptions of the seized tapes before you.

 _Focus_ , you told yourself.

After all, _you had a job to do_. 

And for a while, you felt the static and voices intermingle as they rose and fell in a cacophony of sounds. At this point, you had already identified several patterns in the encryptions of the tapes. Give and take a few more hours and you’d well be on your way to decrypting it. 

At one point, you heard a deeper voice join the others. 

Something about the familiar voice and the way it rolled the words...unnerved you. 

At this point, you couldn’t fight the urge to get away from the radio and television set. The likelihood of static coming from the devices was always something you tried to avoid. Because, _something_ always came along with the static. 

The coldness of the metallic door handle was registered on your hand as you pulled open the door to the bathroom. Perhaps, you just needed to wake yourself up a bit.

You hadn’t gotten any sleep for days and it was beginning to show.

And with that came the risk of the others finding out. 

You turned the knob of the sink faucet and saw the rushing of the clear, cold water coming from it. 

And then you heard _it_.

Or rather a _lack_ of it. 

There was _nothing_. 

Pure and utter silence. 

No static, no voices coming from the other side of the door-

You couldn’t even hear the sound of the fans running in the safehouse and the sound of your own breathing. 

_Nothing_ **_nothing_ ** _nothing_

 _No, no, no-_  
  
You were okay.

You were _fine_.

  
**К̸̡̧̢̢̢̧̬̼͇͎͚̻̳͎͙̼̜͕̣̗͈̱̱̰̟͙̻̫̙̙̲̙͙̮̳̹͈̩̭̳̟͕͕̥̟͎͈̗̮̐̀̈́͆̾̂͑͋͜ͅо̴̨̛̛̪̪͚̹̅͒͌͂̊͌̊̊̐̎̈̈́̾̊̅͋̅͐͐͋̎̆́͋̕͘̚̕͘̕͘͝л̸̛̠̗̠̮̜̰͍̖̗̘̎̿̅̅͌̃̎͋̍̾̕о̶̧̛͔͙̯̭̲͍̞̟̺͛͗̈͛̍̽̓̈̏̆̈̾̋̌̾̌̓͗̃̈́̑͊̐̊̓̀̇̂̈̾̋̚̕͘͘͘к̴̢̢̨̨̨̦͚̲̜̮͙̯͖͎̭̤̱͓̭̦̔͋̈̿̋͛̒̿͜о̵̧̡̪͕͈̥̞͙̯̯͇̮̬̝͔̬̟̠̔̉̐͛̾́͆̽́̊̈͛̅͆̕͜͝͝л̶̡̡̢̧̡̧̛̣̮̤̪͇̤̖̠̪̗̝̤̗̰̜̳̖̰̙̘͍̲̬̪̪͔̖̟̪̺̬͖̞͖̤͒̇̌͗͗̈́̿̊͂̋̌̈́͌̐͑̊͑͒͋̋͒̎̽̈́̍͂̓͂̐̈́̚̕̕̕̚͜͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅ,̴̛̱̖̲͔̂͑̀̀́̒̓͗͋͑̾̓̾̓̆̆͑̈́̐͋̌͆͌̈́͑̀̄̆̑͐̎̏͛̄̆̈̄͘͘͝͝ ̶̢̡̧̛̤̫̲̥̹̪̯̩̪̼̱̻̠̠͎̣̳̱͓͕͍̝̓͒̓͌͆͒͊̅̇͊̎͂̅̒̈͂̇͗̌̒͂̄̒̍̎̈́̍̓̆͘͘̚͠͝ͅк̵̢̨̧̨̡̫̫̙̖̙̣͈̤̤͓̘̳̪̟͚̲̘̯̭͇͉͕̤̖̟̩̟̙̭̹͈͎̝̖͖̣̘̼̺̍̃̎̎͆̽́̏̐̈́͌̅͑͊̇̏̒̈́̈̌̔̿̀̾̐͋̐̕͘̚͜͠͝͝о̷̡̢̨̛̪̮̫͓͎̥̝̳͉̥̜̥̟̭̟̟̗͚̹̘̹͖̩͉̮̰̲͕͍̣̻̝̙̫͓͕͙̙̠͇̒̉͌̒͌̓̊̾̒̾͐̇̅̽́̈̎͒̒̔̑̀͘͝ͅͅл̷̧̧̧̛̜͇̫͇͉͈̰͖̙̖͎̹̼̘̘̗͉̮̟̪̮̰͙̻͚̯̦̘͍̯͍̯̦̙̞͈̝̣̠̜̖̝̼̃̏̽̑́̔̊̑̋̈̂̐̈́͗́̉̀̾̃̈̒̑̅͂͑͆̓̔̂̆͐͘͘̚͠͝͝ͅͅͅо̶̨̨̧̝̖̙̘͓͇͇̜̲̙͓̤̝̱͕̣̗͍̱͎̰̟͔̝͕̲͚͚̺̪̞͍̮͚̙̙̤͍̳̽͆̎̉̍͗̽̀̈́̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅк̸̭͕̰̦͔̤͕̜̦̤̬̗̫̭̔̆̂͐̄͌̇͗̒̓̈́̒͆̄̅̒̓̏͌̽̉͂̚͝͠о̸̢̭̣̥͙̹͇͋̑̔̆̐̽̓̒̾̍̋͊̾̀̊̕ͅл̴̧̨̡̢̡̹̤̩̙͇͚̳͉̙̼̜̣̤̱̹̝̘͖̩̺͈̗͎͉͎̜̳̖͇̹̻̝̘̞̬̱̭̰̜͔̲̳͕͛̓̇̾̋͌̎̈́̃̽̆̊͐̍̏̊̃͂̾̕͠͝͠͝,̶̨̨̨̢̡̛̛̤͓͎̮̻̫͚͔̠͓͇̭̱͙̤̻̫͓͈̞̼̱͆̂̂̊̏̉͒̅̋͐̂̍͛̀̿̎͆͊̉͊̏̈̈́͛͘͠͝͝ ̴̪͙̳̟̼͂͗͆͌̒̓̌̾͑̈́̓̊̽̒̌̿͂̾̒̿͋͌̐̿̽̎̓̌͂̚͠к̷̢̢̢̧̡͍̬̻͈̦͕̝̹̹̮͎͓͈̬͔͕̫̮̩͓͉͎̭̲͎͌̐̈́̈́̇ӧ̴̨̧̛̛̖̠̭̩̮͇̙̦͔͎̤̩̺̤̙̺̘͈̪̫͈̟̲̝͖͓̳̯̱̙̱̲̮̩͇̖͈̘̗̱̬͇̰̫̪́͌̔̄̓͌̐͆̈́̔̽̑̕͜ͅл̶̢̨̨̧̨͙̮̭̪͖̲͎̭̦͙͚͙͈̩̮̱̣̞̱̱͉̹͈̹̳͈̣̙̲̼̖̯̗͔̣̼̺̯̠̩̲̪͔͇̙̽̓̽̄͐̌̍̇̃͑̌̽͛̈͊̕͠ͅͅӧ̵̥͔͍̲̖͍̙̝́̋͑̆͋̈̃͒̐̉̎͋͑̃̿̚̕̕͠͝͝͝к̴̢̧̨̳̘̰̹̥͖̩̺̣̜̗̠̤͍̠̲̖̣̠̠̭̯̱͚̟̞̤̠̠̯͎̮̫͖͖̩̭͍̼͐͛̌̾̓͌̈́̅̎̿͑̑̋͑͌͊̾̅̽̆̐͋̿̈͋͑̽̃̒͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅо̸̨̢̲̟̖̪̝̖̦͈͇̘̝̮̻͉̲͉̰̬̺̤̺̯͍̩͔̯͚͐̋̄̊̿̿͂͊͂̈̂̑̉̈̾͌̃̒͂̑̐̑̍̊̎̊͑͆́̒̅̾̊̀̎̄̕͘̚͜͝͠ͅл̴̡̛̛͎̼͎̩̺͖͈̮̼̙͎̖̼̯̮̯͖̺̭̰̟̞̫͕̼̼̦͙̲̗̄͋̄̎͌̅͊͐̅̌̔̿̒̑͌͂̂͑͛̋̆̓̅͌̋̆̀̉͗̊̿̄͋̊͐̈́̏̀̀̆̈͠͝͝**

You heard the sharp, hissing crackle of static and the rasping of the voice but it wasn’t coming from the other side of the door. Oh no-

It was coming from _inside_ you. 

  
**М̴̛̳̰͚͙̦̗͚̱̙͎̓͊̍̾̚͝о̵̲̠͔͎̣̪̭̘̒̒̏̈͒͑͆̒̿͒̂̾̍̀̕͠͝͝͝͠й̵̪̳̰͔̲͙̘̩̘̭͔͖͙͉͗͆͌̉̽̑̎̐̊̇͌͘͝ ̷̨̡̢͕͚̤͎̲̬̞̺̮͚͙̏͌̍͗͋̃̋͊̉́̆̎͐̉̽̀͑̄͌́͛͑̄͘̚͘͘̚͝͠с̵̡͇̯̜̗̖̝̟̺̘͆̿̍͂̌̌̽̓̚͜͜͜͝͝͝а̴̖̫̣̞̄̒͗̂м̵̡̨̡͇͎̺͎̝͔̱̟̲̘̱̗̩̦̰͖͙̼̯̹̹̺̙͙̦̃̎̾̅̑̎̇̈́̾̐͑̔͜͜͝͝͠ͅы̸̧̢̧̛̝͙̮̩̟̗̳̯͈͎̼̪̦̩̬̲̜̘̘͔̰̝̳͖͎̼͉͖̲͕̀̈́̅̃͑̉͛̈́̿́͋̇͆̽̍̂̋́̈̈̉̃̅͂̀́̀̾̄͊̽̒̆̐̌͛̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͠й̶̯͉͚̝̲̹̯̩̫͇͉̭̯̜͉̯͓̙͙͓͚̱͕̭͌̔̈́͜ͅ ̴̡̨̡͇̺͖̜̝͔̏̓̏́̇͒̊̔̒̂̇̿̏͘͠͝͝͝͝в̴̢̨̢̢̢̯̩̳̖͎̜̣͔̰̰͕̪͎̞̙̗̮̥̟̟̫̩̫̜̞̣͕̙̳͔̟͕̮̣͎̼̪̱̳͙̳̩̗̲͛́͂̂̑̂̽̌̄͛̌͋̚ͅͅе̴̧̱̌̄̈́р̸̧̛̛̛̫̥̲͍̹̹̞̭̦̮̙̲̤͈̭̬̻̳̱̹͇͎͍̖̘̭̪̦̬̤̖͊͌́̐͆̒̔̈́͑͒̎̊́͊̇̓̈́̏̓̈́̅͂̐̅̏̾̀͋͗̂͌̏̅͗̎̏̂̌̕͝͝͝͝ͅн̴̡̨̡̧̡̞̗͈̲̰̱̼͇̮͔̱̖͈̺̜̠̞͉͎͕̝̝͉̮͇͓̮̳̜͍̠͖̜̘̫̝͖͓̼̿͆͋̾̆̒̚̕͜͝ы̴̨̢̢̨͔̺͈̹̯̦̞̘̱͓̫͖̩̦̮̗̱͔̞̱̗̼̙̯͉̖̼͔̜̼̼̥̫̮̦̟̻̦͙̳̗̰̝̙̰̃̅̃̏̌̉͗̀̾͐͘й̷͍͂͜͝ͅͅ**

It was in your head, hissing and crackling into your mind with every damning word. 

You clamped your hands on the side of your head, closing your eyes shut. You knew that no matter what, you had to remember that this, _this_ wasn’t real. 

( _But really was anything ever real?_ ) 

You heard the voice nearly purr in what it said next. 

  
**с̴͉̹̬̪͎̱̺̩̂̋̽̓͆̊̈́̌̈́̀͊́̅̃̚̕͘͝м̴̡̨̨͙͓͎̤̝͚̜̖͍͈̼̱̞͔͉̘̫͈̭̮͇̙̝̦̝̙̅͒̓̌̆̔́͑͛͆̒̒͊̅̉̌̂̎́̍͆̃͆̕͜͠ͅӧ̷̨̡̠̺̺͚̮̳̫̱͍͓̗̬̙̪̫͉͈͈͓̻͉̖̟̣͇̖͕͙̘̼͔͍̰̹̱̼̬̈̈́͂̄͑͋͗͒̒̍̓̔̍̓̕͠͝͝ͅт̷̡̨̺̰̱̠͖̫͓͖̤̟̦̪̙̈͗̏͗̔̈́͋͗̿̈́̇̈͘͜р̶̡̡̢̨͍͕̮̱̜̖̣̲̺̗̳͍̘̤̟̥͓̞̥̝̰̫̳̰̞͚͙̹̙̖̗̫̇͒̔̆̈́̅̍͗͂̌͆̓̌̓̈́̓͑́͛̅͐͌́̋͆̍̾̇̍̾̂͛̌̎̚̚͜͜͝͝͠͝ͅͅе̷̢̢̡̻̞͙͔̲̜̰̭̺̳͚̮͔̯̠͔̘͚͓̣̯̻̻͔͕͚̻̠̟̼̥̙̤͕̭̱͓͂̐̈́̽̈́͐̆́͐͆̾͘͝т̸̨̨̡̛̛͉̝͙͔͕͍͎͔̟̮̮̲̺̻͉͍̺̙͕̖̣̙̖͕͈͙̝̪͍̅̽́̂̓͊͊̄̈͜͝ь̸̡̨̧̨̣̮̜̫̺̥̲̗̼̞̺̱͇̝̮̦̪̥̪̮̳̣̼͓͈͓̓̓̐́͑̑͒̈̋̊͆͆̔͋͂͂͆͋̆͘̕͜ ̶̨̢̢̪̭̙̠͍͖̭̭͔̦͈̥̜̹̣̼͍̲̙̼̺̩̞̭͎͍͓̠̰̺̜͖̪͓̮̩̋͂͜͝в̶̧̘̝̥̤͖̥̺̦͚͙̮̖̫̤͕̻̩̭͙̮̲͛͜в̶̲̻̜̻̲̑͑͆̀̈́̂͌̀̏̿̇̽̃͒̓̋͐͆̎̄̏̆̿̋̔̒̌̋̄͆͋͌̇̄̃͘̚͝е̷̡̬̳̪̣̭͋ͅр̸̡̨̧̩̠͍͔̺͎͙̭̥̮̙͕̳͙͎̲̗̹̠̘̜̦͕̺̬͖̖̫͔̪͍̻͓͈̹̜̳͙̜̺̈̊̅̇̉̒͑̽̎͒͛̓̈́͐̆̉̽͋̏̃̑̍̑͘͠х̵̡̡̥̤̗͕̠̳̫͍͍̬̲͍̹̯̥͚̘̼͔͖̈́̉͛̅̀̄̽̈́̎̈́̉͋̀͒̐͛̽̎͋̿̀͂̔̿͋͑͝͝͝͝**

  
  
  
And there was something about the way it-no _he_ said those words that you knew you should look up. 

_"You have a job to do, Bell.”_

And so you looked up into the mirror-

There stood a red bunker door. 

**And you just** **_shattered._ **

В̶̧̧̧̛͎̩̺̞̜̫̼̯̖̫͕̣͙̖̙͕̣̤͔̰̻̼̭̗̥͉̹̬͚̘̘̗͓̞͎͍͚͔͇̲̝͕̝̯̳͎̰̳͇̝̥̘͎̙͍͇̝̱͓̣̂̈́̉͋̒̈́̃̈́̋̍͗͊͗̑̀͆͗̀̒͑̔͒͊͑͗͆̍͌̏͐̄̍͂̊͗̈́͋͌̎͒̈̔͐̉͐͘̕͘͜͜͠͠͝͝͝ы̴̨̡̡̢̢̢̛̛̛̛̥̭͎͓̤̠̜̖̯̫̤͓̣͈͔̘̠͚̰̗̜̯̟̥̣̺̦͙̩̱̟̻̙̻̩̖̰̩̞̲̬̻̄̆̓͌̌̆̂̈̌͐̿͂͋̊͋̀́̃̊͛͐̃̐͗͋̑̇̅͐̐͐̋́̌̋͋̿̀͆́̿̅̐͑͂͋̿̇͑̈̍̉̃̎̾͑̓̉̌̀͐͊̈́͋͂̍͆̽̀̀͗̈͑͆̕͜͜͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͝͝ͅ ̷̧̨̢̧̧̨̛̛̛̩͕͙̬̺̱͉͍͉͇̬͈͔̯̣͍̭͙͓̯̗̞͖̗̤̮͇͔͍͍̘̝͍͇̹̦̮̏̌͗̏͐̑̓̽̋́̈́͐̍̋͑̃͂͌̈̉̈͛͂͛̒̈̌̂̿͆͋̃͑̄̒͛̎͒̓̓͆̓̽̈́̒͌͗̈́̐͐̓͑͌̇̄̋̑̈̃͛͆̈́̈́̈̏̔̎̄̆̏̀̈́͒̏͂͊̃̃̔̊̍̿̈́͛͌̽͑̈̅̆̾͆̈́̓̑͋̈́̑͌͘͘̕͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅд̷̗̞̼̦̺͙͖̘̠̺̜̺̺̯̰̠̼̙̞̪͙͖̬̭̠̠̮̜͚̣̝̟̻̪̑̍̉͆̓̿̽͂͆̀͋͆̆̾̔̔͊̓̐̔̓̐̊̑̄̌̒̓̉̂̅̎̊̊̾͋͒̆͑̉̔̅̉̄̾̊̃͌̈́̌̇̀͆̋̉̊̽͐̋̂͘̕͘̚͘̚͘̕̕̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝е̵̡̨̨̛̛̞̻̦̬̖͔̬̠̤̠̻͙̳̞͉̞̤͙͎̠̱̼̰̥̫̳̬̳͔̘̻̯̹̗̱͍̥̠̮̞̹̣͉̦͉̜͈͎̯̮̘̣̺̙̠͖͙͙͇̼̠̥͇̖̜̮͓̥̙̝̬̇͂̏̆̈́͗̒̈́̉́̉̓̎̉̈́͒̈́͌̇͊͊͐̀͋̈̋͐̿̃̎͛̊̂̔̽͌̓͐̈̅̉̆͂̍̅̎̈́̿̈́̈́̿͋̓͒̓̆̊̎̊͛̈́̽͒̍̚̚͘͜͜͠͝͠͝͝ͅͅй̶̢̧̡̨̡̨̡̡̧̧̢̡̨̡̦̜̱͚͚͚̳̬̯̤͎̞̠͚̱̯̥̦̣̙̥͎͉̝͔̘̝̞̜̩̫̫̤̬̮̺͖͔̮̘͍͙̜͙̬͎͈̓̎͂͑̓̄̈́̑̊̏̉̈́̑̂̏̋̈́̽̆̓̿̈́͒͒̈́͑̅̋̃̊͒̾̈́́̋͌̈́̌̋̈́̑̇͒̂͋͑́̉̓̍́̇̎͂̍̈́̊͛͂͂̒͋͌͊͋̌̍͌͊͌̈́̈̆̾̔͂͌̍̉̄̏̈́̂̋͗̒̇͂͘͘̚̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝с̴̤̥̜̱̦̣͈̮͙̮̟̮͖̰͖̬̥̲̤̮͎̦̮͇͍̖̘̲͍̦͒̏̈́́̈́͆̆̽́͌̈̂̂̅̓͆̔̄̐̔́̽̓͂̆̀̈́́̀͛͂̍̎͗͂̍͑̒̄͋̓̏͋̋̈́̓͗̍̄̚͝͝͝т̴̨̧̨̧̧̡̧̧̧̨̧̢̧̛̛̺̖͙̻͓͍̱̪̻͖͈͈̙̝̮̬͎͎̤̝̗̤̠͓̳̱͓̠͎̮̩̤̟̱̜͖͇̤̻̬̯̖̟̫̹̥̘̯̪͇̹̰͇͈͍͖̣̹̤̘͓̩̱̰̞̠̖̻̪̻̖͍̥̯̗͖̘͈̙̰̠̫̪͈͖̣̩̅͆̅̀̓̑͂́͊̏̒͂͆̓͋̋̉̈́͒͑̍̾͛̈́͒̀̋̈́̾̓̔́̅͑̆̃̍̅̌̑͐̎̓̿͑̚͜͜͝͝ͅв̷̢̡̛̛̦̩̩̳̼̖̻̦̤̫̜̜̦̭̥̪̫̲͖͇͉̯̦̤̹̖͑̓̌͋̿̈́͆̆̈́̈́̆͗̈́̄́̔͆͗̄̈̒̓̉̅̆̾̈́̈́̂͋̿̐̾̿̊̽̆̃̍̈́̈́́̈́̓̏̌́̉̆̈́̇͘̚̕͜͝и̷̢̧̨̨̨̨̧͖͔̺͙̩͍̗̯̞̞͙̫̗͈̰̲̻͕͈̫͙̣̞͔̼͔̖̬̯͕͚̺̘̗̙̲͓̗̗̠̥͈̖̠̰̹̖̘͈̪̠͚̰̣̳̺̰̙̙͚̞̩̘̣͙̻̬̮̦͈͔̙̺̝̤̝͖̞̱̲̪͎̤̦̠̼̦͍͉̭̂̂̔̒͛̒̒͌̒͑̾̄̐̿͒̈́̍̆̈́̿̃̐̌̽̈͂̀́̆͗̽̂̿̽̿̿͘̕̚͘̚͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅт̵̡̨̡̢͔̠͔̟͇̯̥̼͖̜̳̬͚̠̲͎̤͖̺̰̹̦̯̞̬̮̫̱͖̰̲͉͚̲͊͌̍͜ͅѐ̵̡̨̡̧̡̧̨̧̧̡̛͍̺̗̤̲͔̣̮̩̹̙̼̹̠̖͉̱̞̫̗͇̟͖̻̺̠̥͍̲̪̠̪̤̜̼̱͔̪̥̭̭̺̤̟̹̠̲̰͎̖̲̳̬͔̫͚̆̾̔͛̒͒̿̈͂̀̆͒̔͑̓̑̽̓̇̏̅͒̔̉̉̏͂̊͊̈̆̽̊̌̿͑͐̿͛̌̈̃̏͐̾́͐̈͗̃̋͌̇̏̂̿͒̚̕͘̕̕̚̕͘̚̚͜͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅл̷̢̡̢̨̡̢̨̢̧̧̧̨͕̞͉͉̞̦̹̫̪͔͓͕̣̦̝̜̘͎̦͚̠̫̳̰͔͔̖̟̥̲͓̲͇̺͔̞̲̪̤̟̭͈̯̜̫͈̪̠̟̖̱̤̬̰̥̻̘͉̯̗͈̟̻̣̲̯̜̼̣͇͎͈͉̠̟̟͉̘͕̮̻̩̦̫̤̦͉̘̳̬̦̙̦̓̊͒̓͂̒̆̈́̌̾̑̄͒̄͌͒̈̅̽͑̅͛͊̊̆͒̎̅̈́̔̽̌̿̋̂̓̂̃̐̓̽͘͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅь̷̧̧̧̨̢̢̧̨̛̛̛̛̺͈̰̭̲̖͎͇̫̥̯̲͚͔̬̺̣͈̤̜̠͕͕̦̺͈̞̺͖͚̥̦͚̮̟̠͇̟̭̟̖͖̣͖̹̣̖̲͉̺̜̲͓̙̝̪̳̪͇̟̗͇̪̝̟͎̭͎̮̩̬̺͍̠̱͙͔͕̪̪̝̳̖̗̠̱̓̔͗͗̆̆͗̓̒̅̇̎̓̆̌͂̂͆̾̿͒͒̔̉̐̉͗̒̂͐̽̒̑̒̀͑̌̍̀̔̄̑͑̃͛̾̽̎̄̾͊͒̀͒͑́̈̆̓͑̈̆͂̐́̈̏̽͆͂̉̔̕̕̚͘̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠ͅн̵̨̡̡̢̢̡̡̢̢̡̛̫̹͉̦̭͈̖̺̹̣̺̱͔̩͙͈̙̣̲͈̫̳̜̦̪̥̩̦̼̬̺͉̟̱̦̩̙̻͓͕̤̞͉͙̜̺̻͉̭̳̟͓̰̱̪̰̤͖͕̬͉̹͙͖̜̰̣̮̜͚̬̙̰̩̬͇̹̹̭̠̬̙̻̖̣͈̩̭̖̺̤͓̺͚̩̯͈͉̘̓̂̈̍̇̑͌̊̓͑̓̋͛̿̋͑̆̽̐̂̈́̊̎̓̆̽̓̋͒̊̒̓̇̋͐̉͋̕͜͜͝͠͝͝͝ͅо̷̡̨̡̨̢̧̨̢̨̪̪̞͔̳͙̥̲̬͇̯̺̬̹̗̫̪͚̠̰̞̩̤̼͔̠̼̙͕͎͇̠̬̝͇͇̩̤̟̬̳̙̲͖̘̮̰̻̻͚̼̬̠͔̭̙͕̹̼̳͖̻͇̰̭̦̼̫̫͔͈͎̣̲̬̼̟̱͇̣̼̱̟̘̙̠̞̦͋̿̃̀̅͆͋͐̈́̔̐̓̿̈́̐̌̑̅͑̃̃̎͋̔̍̉̾̍̈́͊͐̄̽̈́̉̈́̔̿̍́͋̌̄͑̀̌͘̚̚͜͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅ ̷̨̧̧̛̗̝͈̬͓͖̻͕̰̇̐̔̎͛̇̋̈́͌͋͐̄̀͑̆̐͊̊͋̔̃̐̿͛͆̍͛̌̐̒̾͊̑̇̒͑͋̊̅̋̒͑̽̇͊̑̇̆͐̏̑͆̉̽͊̾̀̓̎̏̎͋̅̄͆́͌̆̄̾̈̏̅̇̆͊̈́̽̀̏̉͐̓̽̐͋̂̍̈͘̕̕̚͘̚͘̚͘͠͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝д̷̧̡̢̢̧̡̨̨̡̡͕̬͇̯̯̳̻͈͎̦͔̫͇̻̻͇̺̪̮͈̫͓̩̟͕̺̣̣̞̖̻̤͓̠͕̪̞̠͔̖͕͎̭̖̼̟̯̝̲̞̩̫͕̘̱̣͕͔̲̮̮̹̗͖͙̞̰̤̪͔͍̻͍̯̜̖͈̭͖̱̻̣͓̫̳͇̼͚͔̮̦̲͔͈͓̙̻̗̗̳̯̊̑̌̽̉̈́͆͗̈́͂͂̉͌̐̓̀̓̈́̓̊͆̀̽̾̅̋́̎̌͂͆͑̑̋͂̈́̌̅̏̔̄̆̾͂͆̐̾̓̂̌̒͗̌̐͐͗̚̕̚͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝у̸̨̢̛͉͔̥̤͉̺̮͖̬̣͕̜̙̙̺͇̬͓̟̯̥̜̗͐͑̇͌̏̏͗͗̊̈̽͑̿̒͋̌̍̈́̇̍͒̍̾̒̆̌͐͐̈̍̔̑̋̏̈́̾͌́̃̆̊̍̒̀̏̾̀̎͂̄̎̓͂͘̕̚͘̚͝͝͠͠͠м̶̢̢̧̛̛̝̯̙̳͖̱̱̼͙̝̣̦̳̦̟͕̟͖͍͓̤̙͓̲̟̙̩̯͍͙͇͈̞̟̮̠̞̠̺͓̲͙̗͍̣̩̜̫̹̳̹̖̠̘̟̲̮̤̤͍͈̟͇͔͚͚̞͖͂͗̈͐͋̊̇̓̊͒̓̓̉̃͆͊̌̽͐̋̐̎͊̔͘͘͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅа̸̢̛̥̝̗̝̀́͂̓̎̃̏̏̉̔̑̿̈́̍͑̃͒̚̕̚͝л̵̢̡̢̢̛̛̪̬̟̭̳͙̘̳̥̭͓̣͓̹̹͚̮̙̫̱̬̮̹̟̙̺̗̤͚͇͖̤̭͚̘̗͔͇̗͎̳̮̖̻͕͖̜̮̪͉̦̘͓͉̫̣̤̥̺̹͓̲̇͆͂͋̍͑̆͆̎̀͊̿͋̀̄͒̄̈́̎͐̐̊̽̒̎͒̉̏̇̇̋̓̈̐̾͑̃̈́͒͆̽̓̃̊̅̆̇̏͌̓͆̊͂̿͆̈̎̅̄͒̿̽̃́̔̈́̽̈̍͛̓͗̿̕̕͘͘̚̚̕͜͝͝͝͠͝ͅи̵̧̡̢̡͔̗̟͈͎̙̯̦̮͉̞̻̦̥̯͉̝̪̬̲̜͙̞̖̣̯̼͈̭̰̟̜͒́͑̑̉͒̀̄̃͊̽̐͒̅̍̐͊̓͂͋͛̊͒͂̓̎̈̈́̊͌͌̓̀̈́͐͒̈͒̑̎̌͆͗̽͗͐̎͌͒̉͂̈͑̐̂̚͘͘͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅ,̷̡̢̢̨̡̢̢̡̻̟̟̪̩͉̯̱̖͙̙͖̟̙̻̝͍̗̯͕̝͖͔͉̱̦͓̩̦̞̼͓̭̹̳̼̫̭͚͓̭̫̹̥̘̥̤̞̘͔͔͖͈̯̻̜̲̥̲̣͚͍̱͇̫͕̙͎̞̘̟̦͇͔͓͖̤̰̥͚͆̾͆̔̏̌̒̆͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅ ̶̢̨̨̧̡̨̡̨̧̛̛̯̻̤̜͕̗̲̝̠̝͔̻͉͇͉͙̳͇̰̗̜̦̝̹̬͎̙͕͓̮͓̣̯̫̭̝̜̞̥̖͔̝̹͕̲͍͉̙͉̞̙̘̙͙̟͈͓̫̪̹͛̏͆͂̈́̐̔̋̀̑͛̈́̎̔̀̌͒̑̈̋̏̒͋͋̈̅͆̉͌̐̎̈͗́̔̓̂͐̒͆̒͆̆̀̈͌̃̒̐̿̔̈̈́̈́̃͌̊̉̐̿̉̎̈́̽̆̂̿͒̄̈́̈̒̒͂̾̾̒̓͛̓͘̚̕̕̚͜͠͠ч̵̡̢̡̛̲̜̹͔̗͔̬̞̣̲͎̫̙͇̣̭̙̻̭̮̺̜̖̬̬͋͛͂̊̈́̿̎̄̾̈́͋̒̂̅̽̄͊̉̓̑̾̏̍͒͂̿̽̈́͌̇̾̀̊͐͂̈́̿͋͌̂̑͌͗͂̅̔̍̏͗̔̈́̊̇̈́̎̍̐͛̎̈́̈̃̓̅͂͗͆̋̍͑̕̕̚͜͝т̵̧̡̨̡̖̭̺͍̲̲̹͈̝̺̞̫̰͔̹̩̼̹͔͉͙͉͚̻̩̲͉̹͓͍̻͉̣͉͖̭͇̗̮̠̦̝͔̮͓̦̉͒̈́̐͘͜͜͝ͅͅо̵̧̨̨̨̨̡̨̨̛̳̯̫̲͙͈̖̥̟̘̟̬̣͙̩̘̖̝̬̘͍̻̩͕̟̬̘͎̭͖̩͓͕͈̰͈̫̜̖͌͌̉̓̈̂̏̏͒͆̌̂̆͑̾̿͑̓̐͋͂̆̐̿͊̎̀̔̓͊̿̏̃̏͒͌͂̑̋̋̔̚͘̕̚͘͝͝͝͠ͅ ̵̨̧̨̨̛̛̥̗̹̰̘͉̩̘̝̬̫̮͈̗̺͈̥̖̣̖͎̭̙̬̣̤̥̯͍̞̰͎̩̖̬̖̘͚̻͚̯͎̰͎̘̞͙̠̭̘̜͕̣̖̻͇̻̗̭̙̘͓̥͍̟̟̖͍̤͔͉̙̳̘͊̒̈́́̎̀̌̊̅̓̎̔̌̈́͗̐͊̈́̈́͛̈̒̈́̋̌̎͆̏̐͌͌̉̄̓̑͂̈́̔͐̾̀̈́̅̔͗͆̑̇̇̀͑͌̂͆̈́́͛͑̿̚̕̕̚̚̕̚̕͘͜͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅм̸̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̢̧̡̣̼̼͕̮̜͕̪͕̱̥̫͓̼̞̗͈̫̥͎͇͕̠̱̹̳̠̺̦̼̯̪̝̳̲͙̖͓͓̬̩̝̻̹̗̙̱̜̠̹̥͇͙̹̜̓̆̒̈́̌̓̅̈̏̌̔̒̋͐̾̅̊̉̋̾̅̽̒̂̇̚̕͜͜͜͠ͅо̸̢̛̖͎̹͓̹̻̘̥̾̒̄͂̃̉̒̓̐̈́̈̄̈́̆͊̌̌̑̓́̐̍͂͑̉̊̍͛̏̃̒̕͘̕̕͠͝͠͠͝͠͝͠ͅͅж̸̨̧̨̢̡̨̧̨̢̧̨͕̹̣̤͔͉͕̥̭͉͚̦̙̰̗͇̯͚̘̣̝̮̤͉̠̬̗̺̼̦͓̠̞̠̠͈̯̻͎̲͎̤̝̳̪̫̜͖͎̣̝̠͍̜̩͎̺͖̩̘͕͓̙̳̩̤̜͚͇̲̹̗̣͙͎̙̟̬̖͔̻̘͈̻̩̰͍͍̻̬̖̺̗͐͂͆͋̈́̓͆̈́̚̚̕ͅͅͅе̵̡̯͍̭̞̬͈̥̰̝̬͖̱̘̜̫͔̭͙̰̦̖͇̐͠ͅт̵̨̨̛͎̞͎̥̫̭̣̯̰͎̯͇̼͙̠͖͍̩̝̰̼͎͍͈͖̼͓̗͈̼͕̗̘̦̟̳̰̮͔͔͈̥͚̫̞̳̻̱̮̱͓̜͔͈̤̖̭͚̳̫̓̽̆̾͗͐̐̃͗͂̑̄̋͋̎̍̀̓̓̿̃̕̕͜͜͠͝ͅе̴̨̡̡̢̧̡̧̛̦̼̖͍̖̦̥̦̮͈͉̪̝̮̩͚̝̖̠̻̩͕͖̤̦͉̯͔̻͈̩͍̱̞̜̲͓̭̦͍̯͚̟̩̱̥͍̟̞͕͚̗̭͍̗̻̦̥͉̘̩͈̘̱̰̪͆̄͂̌̈́͂͒́̑͗͗̃̓̈́̓̇̽͛̒̽̇̽̈͐̒̆͒̅̈́͆̈́͗̂̐̽̋͑͒͋̍̒̐̉͂̆͋̓͋̐̔̅̑͂͑͊̒̆̀̎̇̉̓̂͌̈́̋̋̈́͐̏̔̍̄̐̐̑͊͆̈͛̑͑̎͗̉̄̿̈́̈́̃́̃̈́͘̕͘͘̕͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅ ̷̡̧̨̧̛̯̩͈͎̟͚͎̖̥͎̖̩̱̬͔̖̻̣̗͖͍͇̯͈̩̳̻̫̺͎̖̙̝̤̘̖̗̺͈̦̪͇͇̳̻͙̟̺͎̩̞̗̞̫̮̳̣̻͎̯̘͖͒͌̿͒̈́͗͗̓̇̽͛͂̆͌̅̎͂̀̅͘͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅс̶̢̧̨̨̧̡̢̨̨̢̨̖̮̙̬̖̹̼̗͓̥̪͍͙͉̤͓̳͚̱̩̟̞̮͓̖͓͎̤̖̜͍̜͎͎̖̘̠͖͈̺̟̙͎͉̲̦̻̲͕̫͙̯͉͔̯̮̤̻̟̯̮͚͇̹̹̯̬̹̻̼͇͎̤̻͍̲͕̺̜̟̣͍͇̭͈͖̜͇͓̬̣̹̮͈͍͈̠̓̒͑̊̑̅̀͛̊͌̇̒̀̓̓̂̔̏͂̾͂̑̄̂͂̐͛̌̌̈́́͂̈́̄̓̅͐͂̐͌̏̉̋̅͒͋̌̐̐̌̋͋̄̿̂͛̀͆̈̐́́̒͌̈́͛̉̈́̃̇͆͆̂͒̋̿̊͘̕̕̕̕̚̕̚̚̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅб̷̢̢̡̧̧̢̨̪̩͉̹̬͙̭͓̥̣̞͇̼̫͇̙̺͉͉̠͚͙͕̗͚̟̮̲̻̩͙̬̦͔̦͔̹͉̬̟͔̲̘͎͚̼̝͚̗͓̳̺̖̯̞́̊̈̍̊͊̓͊̃̓̍̇͗͗͌̈́͋͑͂͊̈́̈́͑͋̉͗͒̂̍̾͛̍͒̌͆͐̿̒͆͂̿̀͂̂̍̃͆̌̓̚͘͘̚͘͘͠͝͠ͅͅе̴̢̨̡̨̛̻̜͓͔̮̟̫̺̘͓̳͓̳͈̘͚̙̻̝̩̪̲̭͈̟̰̯͎̩͕͍͇̰̥͙̩͓̪̬̦͕͇͖̘̪̮̰̼̝̫͚̲̘̞̻̫͇̩̦̖̯̞̗̱̪̦͂̍͛̏͊̃̉͌͒̎̓̔̉͛̾͐͌́̇̔̾͛̅̇̉͘̕͘͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅж̸̨̢̡̛̛̛̯̫̬͈̺̯͖͚̳̣̪̞͚̖̼̙̗̲̀̓́̈̾̋̃͆̀̓̆̄̂̅̏̓́̉͛̓͒͂̿̒̈́̃͌̈̿̐̑̒̆̈́̈̽̇̓͐͑̂̈́̓͂̆̄̊̊̒̿̽̈͋͌̓̃͗͗͆̇̇̆̓́͐̀̈́̚̕̕̕͘͘͜͝͠͝͝͝͝ӓ̴̨̡̡̨̨̡̡̧̨̧̨̢̢̨̢̢̛̛̖̳̖̼̤̼͎̮̲̮͈͍̪̣̝͚̺̮̳͓͙̝͍̘̜̖̪͎͔͓̥̦̮̖̥̱̻̦̤̱͇̬͍̣͍̻̭̤̺̫͎̝̫̥̦͙̣̲̘̬͖̣̲̮͚̗̠̖̺̭͉̼̥̩̭̲̜͍̹̺̳̻̦̱̘͙̻̖͎̙̦̭̭͔́̊͋̐͗́̎̏̈́̅͂́̈͂̿̊̀̓͛͛̾͋͊̋̉̈̃͛̈́͑̈́̋͗͛̒̿̆̄͐̈́̕̕̕̕͘̚͘͜͜͠͝͠ͅͅͅт̷̡̧̧̧̧̨̛̛̦̫̥̩̻̼̝̯̣̬̮̲̬̖͚͕̳͓̙̹͈̼̻̻̳͉̝̦͖̺̪̲͙̻͉̖̥̬̻̥̝͈̦͉̝̤̖̻̣̠̜̮̩͚̭͇͓̳̦̻̭̩̝̻̻̙͔̖̖̮̖̞̖͙̭̟͎̭͚̭̭̬̲̝̱͍̺͍̮̮̜̳͚̮̘͈̪̥̦͙͙̯̠͒̈̿̒̾̎͒́̂̓̎̔̎͂͆͂͌̄͊̍̄͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅь̶̨̢̡̨̧̢͓̬̘̬̞͓̞͚̠͉̰̫̞̪̝̤̹̳̘͙͕̭͔͔̺̳̖̦͙̱͚̯̟̣̟̯͉̺̟͓̼̭̘͎̝̻͖͉̞̺͇̙̝̫̲̺̱̫͖̯̺̖͈̳̰̝̣̟̭̪̭̹͔̥̜̺͉͍̻̰͔̤̭̽̇͂̿̉̈́̿̔̔̑̎̆͌̆̋̎͂̍̀̒͂̅͛̋̓̒̔̾̍̒̆̑̓̃͐̏̀͗͒̈́̏̂̄͛͘͘͘̕͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅ?̸̨̧̡͖̮̗̣͚̜̙̫̖̰͕͙̫̱̮̪̣̗̺͕͎̖̠̗̯͇͖̟͉͕̣̼͍̰͎̥̖̫͓̳̠̞̲͕̣̣̠̝̲̫̤͔̘̝͗͒͌̔̃͗̋̀̏̈̽̐̐̓̕͜͝͠  
  


* * *

“Fuck, _fuck!_ Bell-”

Hundreds of glistening pieces laid at your legs, most of which were stained by crimson liquid on them. 

You noticed how your arms and hand had those flickers of glistening light. 

“Bell.”

They were really beautiful. 

...But where was the red door?

You had to find the red bunker door.

Because, **_you had a job to do_ **. 

Yet as you tried to get to your feet-to get to the bunker-your vision went to black as you felt a warm pressure at your waist, holding you back. 

_No, no, no_ -

“ _Bell_ , listen to me.” You froze. You could hear the voice right beside your ear. It was a warmth brushing against your ear. And you noticed the feel of leather against your eyes as the hand covered your eyes. 

The voice was...familiar. 

The voice was deep, steadfast, and assured like it just _knew_...

And there was something nagging at you in the back of your mind that you just had to _listen._

“I need you to relax and focus, Bell.” 

You stopped your movements to get free. 

“You were working alone in the safehouse, not in the Bunker. Do you remember the tapes, Bell?” 

The tapes...they were...here. 

You just _knew_. 

So you nodded. 

“Yes, good, now you broke the mirror but you’re okay. Listen to me, Bell. _You’re okay_.”

It was only after those words were said that you registered the way the world trembled and shook beneath you.

( _And it was only later that you realized you were the one trembling._ ) 

* * *

You awakened to the feeling of cloth against your legs and arms and to the familiar smell of nicotine and smoke.

“Adler?” you asked quietly, wincing from the bright fluorescent lights right above your head.

Your head felt like it was hit by a 2 by 4-

As you brought an arm up to shield your eyes from the light, you noticed the white gauze covering your arm. 

What-

“You’re awake.” you glanced over to your side, seeing Adler there with his signature shades on and smoking cigarette. You noticed the surgical tools on the tray beside him. 

You were in the makeshift infirmary of the safehouse...

“What happened?” you said, resisting the urge to ask if Adler planned on sticking needles into your brain yet again. At this point, you wouldn’t be complaining...

“You broke the mirror.”

_Shit._

No, no, no he couldn’t find out, not like this-

“I can explain-” you started only for your words to die in your throat as you saw Adler lean forward in his chair. 

“Look, Mason and Woods got their shit together-”

You winced, bracing yourself for the inevitable. You knew what he was going to say. 

**о̵̡̛̤͎̰̝̂̉̆̿̌͒͂̔̎͛̐̈̔͆̔̐̽́̈́̂̑̈͘͝͝͝н̶͚̲̹̼͎̐̒͜и̷͕͔̲͙̼̠̮͙̝̒̂̈͌̾̄͂̄̊͋͑͋̄̇̽̈͋̒̌̆̐͘ ̷̡̡̢̢̛̛̩͓̥̠̲͓̟̤̠͈͉̣̠̹̗̦̥͓̙̤̞̜͐͐͐̍͊̓͌̀̌͗͛̕̚͜͜с̷̛̛̬̖͇͓̝̰̱̱̗͉̺͖͈̟͇̈́̋̈̿͂̆̂́̽̓̉͐̊̕͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅо̶̧̧̡̰̝̗̭͍̩͉̹̦͈͉̪̝͍̼̬͕̯͕͕͖̳̯̤̆̔̅̋̉͘͜ͅб̴̧̛̰̥̼͓̩̯̯̺͔̟̲̘͒͗̋͋и̴̛͕̝̋̈́̂̃̐̽̒̓͗̎͂р̶̡̡̨̡̛̞̦̣̲̯̥̙͇̦̤̩̗̩̳̫̙̲̗͗̏̍̋̐̽̇̍̃̅̔̈́͐̇̎͛̍͗͋̎̇͛͌̌͘а̵̢̛̟͕̟̯̺͙̬̣͈͓̺̠͎̝̝͚̀͌͑͗͂̍̈͐̑̈́͊͆͂͋̏̿͘͝͝͠͝ю̶̡̛͓̺̹̼͙̟̣̫̺̜̤̣̯̫͓̼͎͔͈̼͎͚͓̞̜̼̖̔́̄͌͛̌̾͆̉̍̾̂͐̔̿̌̉̆̿̇͛̈́̈̕̕ͅт̷̧̛̦͉͔̳͔̠̥͉̺̈́̌͌̑̈̓͑͑͌̃̽͆̄̾̉̄͆̅͋̕͠͝с̵̡̧̧̭̤̞̤̘̗̰͆̊̈́̓̒͒̆͂̋̓͘̕͝я̵̧̨̧̨̧̢̩͓̜̘̲̦̙̙̫̪̳̬̺͉̮̹̳͔̍̉̐̔̀̓͐̀͜͜͠͝ ̷̗̥̅̈́̒̔̿̍̑̌̽̒̂͐͂͐͋̌̓̐͆̉̇̊͛̋͝б̶̧̡͇̟̫͉͕̳͈̜̤̦͍̦͚̩̭̈́͆̈́͐̔̿͛͑̄̂͗͛̈́͒̋̆̎̄̏̒̑͘͘͘͜͝͠р̴̢̢̢̛̙͉̦̜̞̲̬̳̪͔͖̹̜͕̣̝̹̣̲͔̃́̈̒͜͜ͅо̶̬̰͍̂͛̾̈͐̆͜͠с̴̢̪̝͎̮̫͖̺͈̬͔̥̹̠̤̦͇̄͆̆͐̔̿͐̌̋̓̑̓̈̌̅͘͝и̴̢̪̞͈̹̬̮̥̣͇̦͍̜̥̔̈́̍̍ͅт̵̛̣̰͙̞͖̯̩̙͓͓͍̫̖̼̙̻̟̦͉͕̪̿͌͋͂̀͒̓̐̈͐̕̕̚͝ь̵̢͙̝̪̟̦̜͕͚̻̹͇̼͖͌͛̆̏̀̇̔̂̉̋́̿̒̊͌͛̆̓̽̍̉̕͜ ̷̲̍͒̋̂̔̄͆́̄͑̃̓͛̆́̏͒̂̐͗̕͘̕͝͝т̸̨̡̼͎̘͚̱̱̼̗̼̥͇̭̈́͛̿̉͛̔̊̏̈́͊͛̃́̿̕͝е̶̡̛̛͈͈̖̦̳̻̘̯̣͍̠͓̰̼̯̻̘̲͇͙͔̲̱͕̪̪͎͑͌̊͐͂̓̏̂̓̔̀̈́͐̀̔̈́̆̚͘͜͝͠͠б̶̨̢͎͇̝̜̘͉̖͈̠̪̪̱̟͚͙̖͕̫̖͚̠̥̅̋̇̈́̄͗̄̎̚͜͜͠ͅя̶̝̟̟͓̗̹̠̹̭͓̯̤͇̿̍̎͗̀̈́̊̅͛̄̃̓͗̽̂̉̕͝**

_They’re going to abandon you._

“-and so can you.” he finished. 

...wait, what?

“But they’re different. I don’t have-” you started only to stop. You...you didn’t have anyone. At least, they had each other, “...I don’t have anyone.” 

Adler only took a drag of his cigarette before sighing with the smoke curling into the air, “I didn’t realize I had to spell this shit out for you.”

Okay…?

“The CIA is responsible for you. So just like with my ex-wife’s dog, _I’m_ responsible for you.”

Being compared to Adler’s dog was...interesting. But you sure as hell weren’t complaining. 

In other words, you got to stay.

(And you had _someone_ even if that someone did compare you to his _dog_ of all things.) 

And somehow in that moment even though you could still hear static, _that was enough_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had a lot of fun writing out this fill for the request! This is my first time writing whump (if this counts as that) and I don't think I did a completely terrible job? Maybe, it's edgy with the glitch text font but I chose that to show the static. Speaking of that, it was fun to experiment with the glitch text to mimic and show the static over the radio that Bell hears. Anyways, I hope Adler didn't come across as OOC. I actually tried my best to parallel the MK Ultra mission where Adler as a narrator walks Bell through Vietnam. 
> 
> On a side note, I'm taking requests on both tumblr and ao3 for Adler/Fem!Bell as well as interactions between Belikov & Bell and Lazar & Bell cause they're all so fun to write out. That and I could honestly use the practice to improve my writing which is still really rusty. So if anyone is okay with my writing and has any AU ideas, song lyrics, prompts, or dialogue prompts they want me to write out (as long as it isn't nsfw), feel free to ask me on tumblr (@yunatheintrovert) or comment on ao3 here. 
> 
> Well, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The Russian translations (they come from Google Translate so I don't think they're going to be correct. So apologies in advance to any Russian speakers here) are right down below here....
> 
> Russian translations (in order they appear):  
> 1: Damaged goods.  
> 2: they will abandon you  
> 3: Bell, Bell, Bell  
> 4: Bell, Bell, Bell  
> 5: My most loyal one  
> 6: Look up.  
> 7: Did you really think you could run away?


	2. second time's the charm | Dark!Adler/Bell Post-Solovetsky AU

“ _Нова-6 только что вошла во вторую фазу разработки. Главный научный сотрудник Кузьмин встретился с Кравченко, чтобы обсудить испытания на людях._ ”  


You blinked, registering the sound of the chatter of a radio crackling through the air and the steady rolling of the tape in the corner. You could vaguely understand the Russian voice in the tape even though your Russian was hazy at best. MK Ultra hadn’t been the best thing for your linguistic skills. All you could catch was _Nova-6_ , _Kuzmin_ , and _Kravchenko_...a familiar name. 

What were you…

Your thoughts were cut short by the sudden pain in your shoulder as you tried to pull yourself off the bed only to wince. You brought a hand to your shoulder-

The sound of chains clanging against metal resounded in the air. You looked down and found your hands bound to the posts on the bed. 

_What the hell-_

However, the sound of a door opening cut your thoughts short. 

You opened your mouth, ready to confront whoever chained you up like this because the others-

 _...the others_ , you realized with horror.

 _Adler_. 

He and the others weren’t going to come for you. 

The vague memory of a gunshot hitting you in the chest and your vision fading to black hit you. They must have captured me, you thought numbly. 

Adler hadn’t even bothered to finish you off. 

And that in and of itself was a fate worse than death. 

You braced yourself for the interrogation by whichever Soviet or Perseus officer had happened to find at the cliffside-

And then you noticed the smell in the air. It was a familiar one you instinctively relaxed at because it was something that had accompanied you through hell and back all those years ago in Vietnam- _no, no, **no**_

 _Remember, Bell_ , you told yourself. Yet you winced at the name…”Bell”. 

Even that was created by Adler. 

Everything about you came from him. 

And he tossed you away. 

_Like damaged goods._

“Bell.”

You flinched from the sound of his voice.

Even now, you were hearing that damn voice of his, rolling your name off like it was a real true one. But it wasn’t because everything was a lie and you had to remind yourself of that again and again-

“Now, Bell, you know that we have a job to do.” This time, you closed your eyes, praying that the trembling of your hands at the sound of that didn’t show to the Soviet officer before you. 

_Not real, not real, he’s not real Bell-_

Yet even as you knew he was but a hallucination by whatever substance your captors injected you with, you just couldn’t stop one word from falling off your lips hollowly.

“ _Why?_ ”

Even as you looked down, you could almost see him take a drag of his cigarette before sighing out the smoke which curled into the air. The all too addictive feeling of nicotine seeping into your lungs as you were forced to breathe in the small, cramped cell. 

“Why?” he asked out loud before saying almost amusedly, “Hudson’s an idiot, not knowing a good thing when it appears. But don’t worry, kid.”

“I sure as hell know when that happens. And you were that diamond in the rough, Bell. You did your job so well-”

You nearly shivered at his words. What the hell did they give you for your fucked up hallucination of him to say these things? The worst thing about it was you couldn’t help but feel that damnable sense of pleasure at that. 

You did your job so well. 

_Just like a good dog_ , you thought as you felt your hands tremble against the chains once more. They had trained you to be that way, after all. 

A good loyal dog for him until you were to be put down. 

“Besides,” Adler continued on, “We still have a job to do. Perseus is at large and I need the best operative we have for it.” 

“Go away,” you bit out, trying to keep the desperation in your voice from coming out. You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break so soon. 

“Alright, kid,” Yet you didn’t relax at the easiness in his voice. In fact, you only tensed because you knew him...maybe not in reality but in those memories in that lab. All those times you heard his voice over and over again like a prayer…

You suddenly heard footsteps coming closer and closer before you felt gloved hands tilt your chin up firmly. At that moment, you opened your eyes instinctively only to find yourself staring up at those eyes always obscured by those sunglasses. 

“You know what they say. _**Second time’s the charm.**_ ” 


	3. you're a beautiful broken thing

“мой верный.”

Cool leather brushed against your lips. You felt a gloved finger lightly push past your lips, ever so slightly nicking your canine. You looked up to see a familiar scarred eye staring down thoughtfully at you. 

It was rare for him to take his mask off. He usually kept it on. But there were quiet, little moments like this where he’d silently take it off and stare down at you like that before leaning down to kiss you. 

There was nothing gentle, tender about it. 

But you didn’t need that. 

You closed your eyes, letting yourself simply experience the familiarity of it over you. It was an anchor amongst nothing, 

It was so easy to forget.

A tiny whisper at the back of your mind dared to ask what you had forgotten but you ignored it. You didn’t know what it was. 

“В сломанных вещах есть красота.” he whispered against your lips. You brought your hand to his face, brushing the skin near the scar but never getting so far as to touch the scar. 

You had scars too. 

And he knew better than to touch certain ones. 

After he pulled away, you felt the familiar shape of the gas mask he had given to you once again go over your face. Large gloved hands reach behind your head, easily securing the straps and tightening them. 

You felt a firm pressure on your chin, tilting your head to look at him. 

You opened your eyes only to see Stitch smile as he spoke in English this time.

_**“We’ve got a job to do.”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a short little snippet I wrote after talking with some people on a discord server about the idea of Adler being distant from Bell and Bell then going missing or getting kidnapped and then manipulated/brainwashed by Stitch who exploits the conditioning Adler implemented in Bell with MK Ultra. Also, I swear it seems like I’m writing pairings that are either not very well-known at all or just didn’t exist until now XD. Either way, I’m having fun! Thanks for reading this short little snippet!


	4. playing rough

“ _Подчиняться_.” 

The gloved hand on your neck tightened just enough for you to shiver ever so slightly from the pressure applied to your sensitive scars. You could have sworn you felt him brush against a length of scarred skin with his thumb, knowing how it made you shiver from the stimulation.

He always knew all the places to _push_. 

‘ _Playing dirty, are you?_ ’ you thought silently as you glared up at him. 

That was fine. 

You could play dirty too, after all. 

It was all too easy for you to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. The heavy ballistic armor of his combat vest pressed against you before you abruptly shoved your knee against the bruise on his side. 

It wasn’t enough to stun him but you heard the quiet grunt he made muffled by his mask. And sure enough, his grip on you loosened just enough.

With practiced ease, you twisted your hips, using the leverage to flip him over. It was only just after you moved to reach for the knife laying on the floor beside you that you registered the cold steel pressing firmly against your neck. 

“Alright, you won this one.” you said easily. He played dirty this time. That little trick of his wouldn’t work again. Despite your submission, the knife didn’t leave your neck. 

You laughed in amusement. Stitch really did know you too well to not do that, especially after that little trick he played. As you straddled him, you leaned lightly into the knife, reaching over with your arm to grab the miraculously untouched vodka bottle on the floor beside you. 

You knew the rules of the game. 

You registered the light, heated stinging sensation at your neck. But you ignored it in favor of leaning back on Stitch with the vodka bottle in hand. 

Tilting the glass bottle to your lips, you felt the heated sensation of the vodka going down your throat. There was a pleasant buzz to it all as you felt your body instinctively relax and warm from the alcohol. You glanced down at Stitch questioningly yet all you got a slight nod.

_Keep going._

“That’s enough.” he said finally after a few moments, pulling the bottle away from you at last. As you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, you vaguely registered the taste of metallic blood from the corner of your lips and vodka mingling together. 

Stitch always did play rough. 

Sighing at the warm and relaxed sensation of the vodka, you leaned back on top of Stitch, feeling the ballistic armor of his vest below you. You smiled down at him. 

“Ready for round two?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just another short little snippet that I initially posted on my tumblr and just now decided to post here as well. This came out rather bad but I tried XD. I dislike my writing but writing Stitch/Bell interactions is quite interesting and fun honestly even though I’m horrible at it haha. Well, anyways, thanks for reading!


End file.
